A Sociopathic Rapture
by Yamitron
Summary: Bakura looked to the impressive clock which was about to chime midnight. "Well," He looked back to Marik, raising the glass of bubbly champagne. "Here's to a new year. 1950. Let's hope it's a good one."    Bioshock Spoilers.


"Thank you." Marik hummed, taking the two glasses of champagne from the on-duty bartend. He smirked faintly at the small bubbles rushing to the surface of the golden liquid, and wondered briefly how it was champagne was procured down here. Probably the smugglers.

Purple eyes fixed on the golden liquid for another moment longer, he glanced up, watching where he was walking as he sauntered back to his table where Bakura was waiting.

"Are you going to stare at my drink all day, or are you actually going to let me drink it?"

Marik chuckled and handed one of the glasses to him, sniffing his as he sat beside him. Their little two-person table was situated in the outer ring of the place, right beside the thick glass separating them from the freezing water outside. He glanced out of it in time to see a squid floating on by, illuminated by the lights of the dozens of other parties no doubt going on. Happy little fella.

"Marik. Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" He looked up, eyebrows raised slightly.

"You zoned out, idiot." Bakura shook his head with a smirk, no doubt amused at Marik's spacey-ness. He'd been rather out of it all night. "I _said_ it's almost midnight."

Pulling back his sleeve to expose the silver watch, Marik hummed. "You're right. I suppose that would be why there's a commotion in the center of the floor."

"That commotion as you call it, is what normal people should be doing, you know."

"We're not exactly normal, are we B'kura?" Marik grinned. "Even in Rapture."

"Especially in Rapture." Bakura chuckled, looking to the impressive clock which was about to chime midnight. "Well," He looked back to him, raising the glass of bubbly champagne. "Here's to a new year. 1950. Let's hope it's a good one."

"Better than this one." He agreed, lifting his glass as well.

The clock chimed and the crowed let out a cheer, couples kissing and glasses chinking. Marik clinked their two glasses together as well, grinning and murmuring a barely audible 'Happy New Year,' and took a drink.

"Luck if you've ever been a lady to begin with…" Marik hummed along to the song playing through the phonograph, hands busy at work. He'd done this so many times, his hands seemed to know what to do rather instinctively as opposed to telling them. Here, now there. Up a bit, down now, back and forth, back and forth… "Luck, be a lady, toooonight…"

That was one thing about Marik. He really did like what he did. If what you do is just a paycheck, you half-ass it, you don't do as well as you should. Your hand is wreckless, your ambition stunted. But if you truly love the process… Your hand is steady, the sky's the limit. Or, as the saying went, the surface's the limit. A little pun.

_Snip._

And just like that, it was done. The song was over, Marik's hands stopped. "She is done." He said simply, stepping back from the operating table. Once the scars healed over, the woman lying there would be truly beautiful. Face perfectly symmetrical, lips full, nose straight and small, skin flawless, eyebrows lifted… Not to mention the breast augmentation this particular woman had undergone not one year ago. And if he wasn't mistaken, she was due for another treatment in a few months.

He admired his masterwork for a few minutes more, head tilted, eyes grazing every facial muscle and stitch as the other doctors cleaned the blood and readied her for transfer to a recovery bed. He turned finally, pulling his gloves off and tossing them in the garbage. Clean up was just as mechanical as the surgery itself. Wash, sanitize, wash, dry, hang up the operating coat to be cleaned, towel off face, change out of scrubs.

After a 12 hour surgery, Marik changed into his every-day clothes: charcoal grey slacks, white button up with the sleeves rolled up halfway, black tie loosely tied and hidden behind a black vest. But something was missing… Fumbling through his pant pockets, Marik finally found the crumpled pack of cigarettes he was looking for, and chose one carefully. Putting it in his mouth, he lifted his hands, thumb held like a lighter which then suddenly emitted a burst of flame. He puffed his cigarette, extinguishing the flame with a shake of his hand and pocketed it. Perfect.

… No, no something still wasn't right. And that was when Marik uttered the four words that were the four most frequented words for those in the medical profession, "I need a drink."

Stepping out into the Medical Pavilion's surprisingly bright lights, he had to shield his eyes as his shoes hit the polished linoleum. The clock read '8.30 pm'. It was still relatively busy in the area, wealthy women waiting in line for a chance to elegantly scrawl their names onto the list for surgical operations, clipboards with paperwork in hand. Same as always. Marik lifted a hand in parting to the receptionist Pamela, who smiled and said a friendly 'Have a good evening, Mr. Ishtar!' as he strode out.

Shoes clicking on the floor, Marik looked to the eye as if he hadn't a care in the world. But his mind was still fixated on that woman. What if he had lifted the Orbicularis oculi a little more? If he had tightened the Risorius? If he had restrained the inner frontalis…? Sure, the woman was beautiful to herself and to others, which was his goal. But next time. Next time he would make those other adjustments. Then she would truly be perfect.

His tired eyes fell upon a little girl in a rather tattered dress, frowning and glancing anxiously around. He paused, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and holding it between his index and middle fingers. "Little girl, are you lost?"

She turned to him, her angelic face red from the tears which flowed from her eyes. Swiping at them, she hurried over to him. "I can't find my mommy!" She cried, her little hands wringing in her dress.

Normally quite apathetic, Marik felt a twinge of pity for the girl. He held out his hand to her. "Here, come with me. I'll get you taken care of, okay?"

She looked hesitantly at his hand, and back up to his eyes. Marik wasn't exactly a sympathetic looking man, almost erring on the side of intimidating. He had a few scars on his face, hands, and forearms, one quite noticeably running from his eyebrow to his cheekbone on his left eye. Not to mention the odd combination of blond and tan his hair and skin made. So it was quite natural that she would shy away. But he smiled in a way he hoped would be comforting, and she took his hand.

He noted how small hers felt in his own. How fragile she was. Poor little thing. Delicate. Breakable. Skin bright and pale such that the light that bounced off of it seemed to give her a gentle glow. Oh, if only he could do the same for his patients. Give the gift of such innocent beauty…

"When did you last see your mother?" He asked, starting them towards a transit hub.

She sniffed, wiping her nose on her little arm. "Th-there was a fight. I d- I don't know…" She started to cry.

Marik frowned. Trying little creatures, however innocent. "Hush," He sighed. "I'll get you taken care of, alright?"

She only nodded, trotting along beside him. They passed through the open gate and stood in the atrium between the Medical Pavilion and Neptune's Bounty, two or three people passing them by. Marik was leading her to a transportation hub with the intention of taking her to a main information desk and finding out her mother's name to return her to her home, when he saw a familiar face approaching.

"Oh, Doctor." Came the voice of a female from the right.

The woman held a hand up. She had been walking rather hastily out of the underwater bridge and towards Neptune's Bounty when she had called out. Eyes fixating on the two of them, she turned, walking hastily forward and stopping in front of them.

"'llo, Brigid." Marik hummed, tipping his head to her. "I'd offer my hand, but, well." His lips twitched upward in a faint smirk, gesturing to the still smoking cigarette in one hand and the little girl's in the other.

"Marik." She said stiffly in greeting, her eyes on the fidgety little girl. "And who is this little one?"

The girl looked up to her with slightly more trust than she had with Marik; Brigid Tenenbaum was certainly more warm than Marik was, even with the accent and the rigid nature she carried herself with. "My… name is Emily." She said, nervously.

"What is it you and little Emily are doing, Marik?" Brigid asked, smiling wryly down at the girl as she spoke.

"She lost her mother," Marik frowned at the other doctor, wary. "I was going to take her to an information kiosk to sort it out."

"That will take too long." She said, accent thick. "Let me take her? I will keep her safe with me. I have more extensive contacts than you do; I can find her mother much more , little one." She smiled at Emily, extending her hand. "I will help you."

Emily looked between them for a moment, then slid her hand from Marik's and into Tenenbaum's. For just a fraction of a second, that stung.

"You may go, Marik." Brigid said almost distractedly, still smiling down at Emily who shyly smiled back. You could almost mistake the look for motherly affection. "You're just going down to the bar, are you not?"

Marik scowled. "Of course. I just had a twelve hour surgery—"

"That's nice." She cut him off. "I will see you tomorrow, then." Dr. Tenenbaum waved him off, turning with the girl in hand and striding towards Neptune's Bounty. Emily looked back over her shoulder, blond curls bouncing, and waved good bye to him.

The pair walked off together, leaving Marik to stand there, scowling at them as they disappeared behind the door. He sighed. While grateful she had discovered all of this wonderful shit and what not, he was still uneasy with her. A combination of her vast scientific discoveries and survival in the most brutal of conditions left him suspicious. There has to be _something_ wrong with her. _Something_ has to be amiss. It seemed as though more and more people had 'something amiss' these days…

Marik entered the bathysphere, closing the door before anyone else could enter it with him, antisocial as he was. He turned the lever to the level he wanted, watching the water rush by as he descended deeper into the city. It was deceptively pretty this way. Coral and lights blurring together to make a whorl of colour, music playing through the speakers at a slow tempo and mellow tune, relaxing his aching muscles. Emily and Brigid long behind him now, his mind entirely focused on the glass of Arcadia Merlot he so desperately wanted right about now.

He reached the level he set it to and stepped out of the bathysphere, breathing in the sweet smell of alcohol and sizzling meat combining together. A happy bonus to coming down here was just the smell. After breathing in nothing but the rusty smell of blood and the sting of disinfectant for hours, it was a very welcome change.

Walking rather quickly, he strode along the familiar twists and turns, passing new advertisements for free samples of plasmids (he already had his), eyes transfixed on the spot he knew the bar seat which was reserved for him would be. And sure enough, mere moments later he saw it, a shiny red stool free, waiting for him to lower himself into it.

As he did so, he exhaled a sigh of released tension. This was where he belonged, outside the surgical table. This was his home away from home. "Arcadia Merlot." He ordered, tapping his fingers on the bar.

"So pushy. Not even a 'hello'?"

The bartender turned to face him, the bottle already in hand, as if expecting him. Which he was. A smirk on his face, the white-haired man addressed Marik, a glimmer of warmth touching the chocolate brown eyes as they registered him. "No, no hellos for you." Marik shot back, smirk on his own face as he grabbed for the bottle. "I'm exhausted. You get hellos later."

Bakura chuckled, handing him the bottle whole. Marik greedily grabbed at it, uncorking and taking a swig straight from the opening. "Fuck yes. I needed that…" Bakura only shook his head, cleaning up a spill and taking the cork and depositing it in a basket under the counter for such things.

"Long day, mm?"

"The longest." Marik sighed, eyes closing. "12 hours. And to think, I _almost_ had it… If I had had one more hour… She would have been _perfect_…"

"You said that last week about eleven hours." He said offhandedly, cleaning a glass.

"But it's true." He groaned, folding his arms on top of the bar and face planting into them. "She'll of course be adequate as far as her specifications… But for my expectations of myself, I fucked it up."

"…" Bakura sighed, stopping his cleaning and leaning on the bar, giving Marik a look. "Listen,"

Marik looked up, frowning. Bakura opened his mouth to talk, when a thought occurred to him. "How much do you know about Neptune's Bounty?"

Bakura paused, mouth still open. "… Why?"

"Lots of people talk to bartenders. I just get a weird vibe from it when I pass it to come here. Is there anything funky?"

"… Well." He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fontaine's based there."

"…. The smuggler?" Marik blinked.

"Yeah."

"…. How did I not know about this?"

"You don't ask, and you're either asleep or with your hands wrist deep in someone's face." Bakura snorted.

"…. Fontaine…" Marik had completely tuned Bakura out as he spoke, eyes narrowing in thought. Even he had heard a lot about that name. He was rising from the underground, out in the open. His cigarette long burnt out, Marik's slightly unsteady hands lit himself another one.

"…Hey. Marik?" Bakura asked, teasing smirk sliding to a frown.

Marik didn't respond, deep in thought. Tenenbaum. Fontaine. Symmetry.

"Marik?"

Beautiful. Emily. Angels.

"Oi! Marik! Anyone in there?"

Brigid. Fontaine. Perfection.

Fontaine.


End file.
